


Unapologetic

by NorroenDyrd



Series: Amabilis Insania [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Mentioned Characters, Metafiction, Monologue, Not Canon Compliant, POV First Person, Rare Characters, Rare Pairings, Rare Relationships, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sorry Not Sorry, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7975678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When this player created her, Inquisitor Lavellan was to be a good girl and romance Solas or Cullen like normal people do. But she refused to follow the rules, and now is trying to explain herself from an in-universe point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unapologetic

People expect so much of the Inquisitor. You'd think that running around closing Fade Rifts and saving those poor dear peasants from demons and Tevinter cultists and crazy Templars would be enough... But no, as it turns out, all of these challenging tasks (which I actually rather enjoy doing; after all, not everyone can boast making life better for such a... humongous number of people!) are just barely scraping the surface. There are so many other things to do, so many duties to perform, so many (apparently, really important) places to show up in - I think I would have gone insane if Josephine was not here, with her trusty notes on the ready, to remind me of it all.  
  
And I certainly try my best to do all these things, to perform my duties, to show up in important places precisely when people expect me to, and to smile and wave and, uh, what was that again... Bestow Andraste's eternal wisdom on the faithful? I try. Honest.  
  
I try with all my might - Creators know I do... Wait, I am not supposed to mention the Dalish gods in front of most people under my, er, command, am I? It doesn't quite go with the whole wisdom-bestowing drill, especially when there are Orlesian nobles listening in.   
  
And that is really the whole point - I struggle so, so hard to follow Josephine's notes, to do what was expected of me... But sometimes, I slip up, like I did just now with the Creators; and then, all my duty-doing gets ruined.  
  
All right, not sometimes. A lot of times. Uh... Most of the time. To be quite frank, I do not make the most disciplined of Inquisitors.  
  
If shows especially during those official judgements; I don't think I have sentenced anyone to death so far - even though that is one of the things people would have loved me to do. Because it would make a proper, Inquisitor-like spectacle: me, standing tall and proud (eh, all right, maybe not so tall; but I could climb onto a crate or have Varric give me a leg-up or something), with my honour blade raised high and the sun flare glinting on its edge like a tiny ribbon of flame... And then, at the most dramatic moment (that is, if my arm muscles did not burst with the strain first) the massive sword would come rushing down to meet the exposed neck of the kneeling prisoner, and a fountain of blood would squirt right into my face. A thrilling show (Vivienne tells me that the common folk are always eager to see a public execution; I cannot possibly fathom why), and a fitting punishment for someone who dared rise up against our mighty world-saving forces.   
  
But I never give the people this show, much as they look forward to it. Again, I will have to repeat: I could never, ever grasp why executions are such a big cause for celebration - I just seem to be unable to wrap my head around it... I mean, have they ever looked into the face of a person who is about to lose their life to a merciless falling blade? I have, many times, while out in the field with my companions - clearing bandit dens or disrupting Red Lyrium shipments or hunting down covens of apostates that have gone too far (more often than not, that blade would turn out to be Cassandra's; though I have landed my share of killing blows myself).  
  
Maybe it has something to do with me not being a human, or not knowing some secret lore - but I have never found what I see in those wild, widened eyes before the cold, cruel steel sinks into their flesh, to be particularly entertaining. It's the way their pupils sort of... quiver, bobbing up and down on waves of glimmering tears; it breaks my heart to see them do that, and if I have to choose between looking into the eyes of someone who can already sense Falon'Din reaching out to them (ah, here I go, mentioning the Creators again) and letting down everyone who is waiting with baited breath for a fantastical burst of blood and gore... Well, it is obvious what I choose every time. As I mentioned before, I am not the most disciplined of Inquisitors.  
  
And it's not just about not letting the good folk of Ferelden and Orlais enjoy the sight of a dancing blood fountain. It is about failing to... how did Josephine call it... 'exact justice'. Many of our forces' captives, whose fate I have to decide, are guilty of grave crimes; more often than not, they have done things (even if against their will) that have caused innocents to suffer, to lose their homes, and most horribly of all, to die, sometimes really slow, painful deaths. And I know, in my mind, that it would make a lot of people happy, and grateful to the Inquisition, if these... villains finally stopped breathing. But in my heart, I cannot find the strength to be a fair judge.  
  
It would have been so proper, so Inquisitor-like, to wash away the tears of those suffering innocents with the blood of the people who had wronged them... But, being undisciplined that I am, I am bent on finding any excuse, any excuse at all, to let my prisoners live; and after the judgement is done, I keep on visiting them, in their cells or elsewhere around Skyhold (if, the horror, I decided to release them and allow them to redeem themselves by becoming our agents), or even in the remote corners if Thedas where they have been exiled to. I approach them, as I would approach a dear old friend I have not seen in ages; I talk and sing to them to lift their spirits - as it is in very, very rare cases when they are not filled with at least some regret over what they did; and I bring them little gifts like books and warm clothes and tasty food... Who knew that the fearsome leader of the Red Templars had such a weakness for egg and fish pie? I learned to make it especially for him, and he says that my recipe is almost as good as the one he remembers!..  
  
But, uh, all of this was not really the main reason why I started out talking. I think I have just made a huge digression... What can I say: undisciplined.  
  
Apart from not being able to judge people as it befits a proper Inquisitor, there is one other thing about me that does not live up to people's expectations. A thing that, oddly enough, many of the (rather gossipy) folks around Skyhold consider to be even more important than smiting enemies. My...  
  
All right, let's call spades spades (was that how Varric put it?); I would have found a more flowery, Orlesian-like way of phrasing things, but Cassandra recently Hmph'ed at me and told me to give her books back already, so I don't have anywhere to look it up. So here goes.  
  
I am talking about my love life.  
  
During one of those 'girls' nights' where everyone (including a rather stiff-looking Cassandra) was sitting on the floor in nothing but nightgowns and eating chocolate and drinking wine and rubbing the tummies of Leliana's nugs, Josephine told me that almost the entire Inquisition (which must be what? Hundreds of people by now) wanted me to get together with Commander Cullen. I suppose it makes sense: the Commander is such a sweet, protective man, someone to rely on in times of need. Not to mention, his perfectly proportioned features and soft, luscious locks (hah! I can still quote some things from Cassandra's books from memory!) are still the talk of the Imperial court... And since he is a human and I am an elf, it would have added a hint of forbidden romance, which would have sent a great deal of admirers leaping with excitement (I can name Josephine's sister Yvette, for one). Ah, what a charming love story it would have been!   
  
If not Cullen, Josephine then told me, many people were also eager to put their money on Solas. Yes, actual money: Leliana's people had uncovered a whole underground gambling ring, led by some quick-witted dwarf with ties to the Carta, who was accepting bets as to who my lover was... Those poor, poor gamblers: I have disappointed them as well. Ah, but where was I? Oh, right, romancing Solas.  
  
There is certainly some appeal in that, as well: I cannot but admire the hahren's profound wisdom, and his fascinating tales of the Fade, and that air of mystery that surrounds him, making me feel that there is more to this quiet, courteous apostate than meets the eye. And what young, impressionable elven maiden would not be mesmerized by this mystery? (Hmm, I think I just quoted something from Cassandra's books again).  
  
But here, too, I did not act the way people wished. I did not choose Cullen, even though he is a dear friend of mine, and I shall always stand by him in his fight against his haunting nightmares and the lure of Lyrium. I did not choose Solas, even though I admire him greatly, and he is always happy to teach me control my Mark and draw those amazing traditional Elvhen frescoes.  
  
I did not choose Blackwall, either (or rather, Thom: he deserves being the hero he is under his own name). No, I did not choose Thom, even though my heart bled for him (and at the same time, began to soar with pride for his courage) when he took that broad step forward atop the gallows, and finally looked in the face of his greatest fear, which he had been running from for so long.  
  
I did not choose Sera, even though we keep having so much fun together, racing around the keep and pranking everyone we spot with an upside-down smile. I did not choose Bull, even though I hear he is a wonderful lover to have if you want to be guided safely through the world of deepest, most poignant thrills (more expressions from Cassandra's books!). And I did not choose Josephine, even though I shall never stop being in awe of her beauty and elegance and skill in the Game, which, thankfully, has not hardened her sweet, caring heart.  
  
I did not choose any of my companions or advisors, even though I was meant to; you might even say that, in the eyes of some people in the Inquisition, making love to one of these, uh, candidates was part of my duties as Inquisitor. And you already know that I am terribly sloppy with my duties. Just wait a little; just bear with my ramblings a tiny bit longer - and you will see exactly how sloppy.  
  
There are two words that every elf knows, no matter how small their grasp on the rest of our People's lost tongue; two very special words, meant only for those who we keep in our thoughts at all times, with more tenderness than anyone else in our lives.  And the person I say these words to is most certainly not one of the people I was supposed to bond with.  
  
Ma vhenan, I call him. My heart.   
  
I say these words as greeting, while I gently press my palms against his, our fingers interweaving, and feel the texture of his skin, which is coarser than mine, many years' worth of stories and memories etched into it like into parchment; stories and memories that I have been fortunate enough to get shared with.  
  
I breathe these words out, softly, warmly, in between kisses that I plant in the corners of his eyes, happy to see that the dark circles are long since gone, and even happier to feel no salty aftertaste of tears. I whisper them into his ear while he brushes his lips along my neck, pausing in that soft little nook just below the jaw, where the skin is so thin you can hear the loud echo of your racing heart.  
  
I murmur these words, half-asleep, as he lies by my side (resting and sated after we opened our bodies to one another, or just dozing in a light, gentle embrace because one of us did not feel like being touched tonight), his soothing warmth cloaking me like a blanket and making me feel safe and at home - just like, I ardently hope, I make him feel too.  
  
Ma vhenan, I say to him with my arms wrapped round his shoulders, and with my eyes reflected in his, as the rest of the world, which has often been so cruel to us both, fades away, and stops mattering. Ma vhenan; my heart. Beautiful words, aren't they? I would readily turn into one of those gamblers, and bet anything that any chance onlookers would have melted on the spot if I addressed this meaningful greeting to Cullen or Solas. But ma vhenan is neither Cullen nor Solas, to the utmost disappointment of all and sundry. Oh no. Gods no.  
  
He is one of the prisoners I was supposed to turn into a gory spectacle, with a burning blade and a shower of blood for everyone to gaze at, clapping in delight. He is one of the villains I was supposed to crush with the power of the Inquisition's righteous wrath; one of the despicable criminals I was supposed to hate.  
  
I guess I should be sorry for sharing those special words with him; sorry for feeling my heart clench with a sort of overpowering, piercing sweetness every time when I finish speaking and he leans in, his hand cupping my waist, while his lips meet mine. I guess I should be sorry because he does not have the Commander's silken hair or Solas' dimpled chin; sorry because he once was, and still is, in the eyes of many, an enemy of the Inquisition, and not a match for its (supposedly) glorious leader. I guess I should - but I am not. Not sorry in the slightest. Tel abelas, as my ancestors would say.  
  
I am not sorry. How can I be? I travelled forward in time, and I saw ma vhenan trapped and lost amid all the chaos and destruction he had set loose - a flood of darkness, more and more uncontrollable with every moment, sweeping off everything in its path till it swallowed the whole world. I saw the pain in his eyes, and the madness, and the despair, and by the Creators (yes, I know, I know), that was even worse than looking at a person about to be killed.  
  
And since, thanks to the skill and courage of my dear friend Dorian (please don't tell him I said that; or else we might all be blinded by his sparkles) I have so graciously been granted a chance to start over... How could I not use it to try and heal the broken heart that I witnessed turning a man into a monster?  
  
Since I had a whole year ahead of me, a whopping three hundred and sixty-something days to replace the events that had turned our beautiful world into a nightmarish wasteland - how could I not fill each and every one of those days with as much happiness as I could? Happiness for everyone: for my friends, who were no longer tainted and dying; and for my enemy, who was no longer leashed to an ancient horror calling itself the Elder One.  
  
Since I now knew what had started all these dangerous tinkering with time and space; since, back in that doomed world, I had held in my hands the scattered, mournfully rustling pages of a journal written by a father who was overcome by a suffocating, crippling fear of losing his son - how could I not reach out to him and comfort him, because he did end up living through that loss, and it almost froze his heart inside his chest, and wiped his world of all colour and light? How could I not try and make him see that he still had something to live for? After all, I did the same for Bull after he became Tal-Vashoth; I did the same for Thom after he threw back his mask; I did the same for Vivienne after the person she cared the most about in the whole world was taken from her. Yes, yes, I know that my friends from the Inner Circle are nothing like a vile Tevinter magister - and I know that a proper, disciplined Inquisitor would have drawn the line here. But I am not proper; I am not disciplined; I am just a silly little elf who cannot bear to see people suffer and die. All people. Any people.  
  
No matter how much the followers of the Inquisition wanted to see me become a real judge, no matter how much I feared letting them down - instead of the evil magister who needed to pay for what he had done, all I saw was a despondent prisoner who needed to be reminded that, no matter what he thought, his life was not over. And I did remind him. Again and again and again, till he finally began to believe me.  
  
I am still not quite certain it was part of my plan to suddenly grow... how would Cassandra's books call it... entranced by his smile: cold and prideful at first; then, after the pride was followed by a cruel, devastating fall, bitter and crooked; then sort of flickering, hesitant, almost fearful, as he was slowly coming to terms with me being his friend; and finally, bold and open and filled with warmth and contentment. Nor am I certain if it was part of the plan to see beauty in his features, where a normal, reasonable woman would only see the markings of age. Or if it was part of the plan to fall in love with him. But I did, and here we are. Sharing a smile every time we find ourselves in the same room; sharing a touch every time we come closer; sharing a kiss every time a mere touch is not enough; sharing an embrace every time one of us feels sad and forlorn; sharing a talk every time one of us has something on their mind; sharing a bed every time... Why, every time we feel like it.  
  
And even though I was supposed to do all these things with Cullen or Solas, or at the very least, with one of my other companions, I am not going to apologize. People should not apologize for being happy, now should they? Even if these people are fumbling, undisciplined Inquisitors like me.  
  
You see, I have tried to change before, but now that I think of it, if I succeeded, I would not have been happy. Well, perhaps there would have been some happiness in store for the new, proper Inquisitor that would have emerged in that case... But that Inquisitor would not have been me. With this me, the real me around, I just guess the good people of the Inquisition are going to get used to the way I do things. Get used to the lack of colourful executions, and just punishments for the villains. And to the way I use those two special words. Ma vhenan. My heart. My Gereon.

**Author's Note:**

> This can serve as an introduction to the Amabilis Insania series, as it has a general overview of most basic points of this romance. If you want to read about this crack pairing in more detail, go ahead. If not, thank you for dropping by anyway!


End file.
